


Drifting Shards

by lostchildofthenewworld



Series: Continuum [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, F/M, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, POV Elia Martell, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostchildofthenewworld/pseuds/lostchildofthenewworld
Summary: Elia and Jaime are both ragged around the edges, what used to make them whole has long since broken off into pieces that are too sharp to handle. Glass shards that prick fingers that are none too gentle with them, they both wonder if they'll ever get back to the way they use to be. Maybe it's for the better that they don't.
Relationships: Doran Martell & Elia Martell & Oberyn Martell, Elia Martell & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia) & Aegon VI Targaryen (Son of Elia), Jaime Lannister & Elia Martell, Jaime Lannister/Elia Martell
Series: Continuum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029861
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	Drifting Shards

**Author's Note:**

> “I'd thought once, actually, of taking your mind, if you asked. I'd thought I could help you fall asleep at night."  
> He opened his mouth to say something. Shut it again. His face closed for a moment, his unreadable mask falling into place. He spoke softly. "But that wouldn't be fair; for after I slept you'd be left awake, with no one to help you sleep.”  
> \- Kristin Cashore, Fire

Elia sat next to Jaime and while she had listened to him speak, her eyes had settled on Oberyn as his hands had gripped his cup of wine, before he slammed it down – wine sloshing over the edge – and jumped out of his seat for the solar door.

The conversation had halted to a stop at the slam of the door and Elia could hear Doran sigh out in exasperation, she watched as he leaned back in his chair behind his desk and rolled his eyes, both of them familiar with Oberyn’s pouting since he was a babe.

Her hand squeezes Jaime’s who looks confused and somewhat insulted, “it is not you, Jaime. It is me.”

It was not a lie, for Elia knows that Oberyn could care less that she is getting married once again – to Jaime of all people, but it is the fact that she is getting married again altogether that has thrown her youngest brother for a loop. Doran, for all the years between them, he understands why she is doing what she is. Her elder brother, always the thinker, always the schemer and trying to ensure their family’s best interest knows that this must be done.

As a Princess of Dorne, Elia agrees, but outside the political aspect, she is doing this for herself because she so obviously needs it. But Oberyn does not understand, her closest and dearest friend Ashara does not understand – though their relationship has become strained because of Brandon Stark’s death and Arthur’s betrayal – as they think she will remain where she is, or that she _should_ remain where she is. 

They do not understand what it means to be who, to be _what_ she is now – but Jaime does.

“I shall go and speak with him, smooth any qualms he may have,” she speaks before pressing a soft kiss to Jaime’s cheek and exiting through the same door that had been slammed so loudly just moments before.

If Doran looks surprised by the familiarity that she expresses with Jaime so soon after announcing their betrothal, well he does not look surprised.

Her and Jaime have seen each other at their worst, from the stoic faces they both had to wear when watching Rickard Stark burn, or when he went off to find Rhaella. Their masks had been perfectly in place but their eyes, no matter how hard they tried to dead their eyes – it had spoken the truth of their inner most horrors and thoughts.

She passes by tall windows that allow light to filter in through the grand halls of the Water Gardens, but it does not take her long to reach the destination that she is seeking.

Maron Gargalen was the son of tribal princess of the Orphans, Lady Arisa and Lord Tremond Gargalen. He learned as a child the different poisons that the Rhoynar of old had used against the Valyrian during the Spice Wars and he passed on his knowledge to his second son who survived infancy, Oberyn. 

Their father had three labs that he had used, one in the Sandship, another in the Old Palace and then the smallest one that was housed in the palace of the Water Gardens.

Elia had taken the stairs, stairs that spiraled as she kept walking, passing blazing torches that lit her way before she opened a door so familiar to her eyes, not bothering to knock. For while their father had taught Oberyn, they were all his students in one subject or another.

She studies her brother who us hunched over a book, before he reaches out and grabs a vial before picking up a quill to write down what he has analyzed.

“Oberyn,” she called out his name, her voice somewhere between a touch as soft as a feather and thrown rock just over a river.

Her brother continues writing and the silence stretches on, but she knows that he will be the first to crack as he drops his quill and rushes toward her. His face in distress and his scowl present but faltering in the same breath.

“Why? Why must you do this to me? Why can you not stay here? With your nieces and nephews – with _us_ – and just live happily?” His voice is desperate, and her battered heart breaks a little more at hearing her brother plead with her.

A hand drifts forward, resting against his cheek and her brother leans into her touch, his face breaking more before he steels himself and removes his face from her touch.

It hurts, this subtle rejection but she has had worse.

“Because what kind of life would that be if I just drifted away out here? To always hide and to never been seen or heard of again? I still have air in these lungs Oberyn, my blood still courses through me – no matter how some may wish me dead and gone. I am still here.”

The words she speaks are hard to get out, but it hurts more because she knows how easy it could be, to simply live in Dorne.

“There are plenty of men in Dorne, why must it be one that takes you so far away? Why not a second son? Or why not a man at all?! Why must you wound me so?” Oberyn seems to get angrier the more he speaks, so Elia just stands and lets him rage.

_Let him rage now than later._

Her brother tears around the room like a typhoon, whipping against rocks and daring anyone to tread into these waters and he will drown them; like a sand storm that will encase those who do not seek shelter and will find themselves buried, left for the snakes, scorpions and ants to feast upon them.

“Because they would simply want to put me back together, to want to be some gallant knight that I am not in need of. They would aim to make me happy, not knowing that happiness is fleeting, and I seek to be content instead,” at her explanation her brother’s steps falter in the dimly lit room.

She had once thought herself happy with Rhaegar, but her definition of happiness did not match Rhaegar’s and her happiness had turned into estrangement, which led to bitterness and then to anger and disappointment.

No, happiness does no good, not for a woman like her nor a man like Jaime. Maybe before, before everything had happened but now they had been changed, altered – irreversibly – and they had to come to terms that the change they went through was permanent and it would do better to not dwell on it, but instead to keep going.

Elia and Oberyn simply stare at her before he walks over to her and hugs her fiercely, his hands clutching onto her back, her long curls no longer being in the way of such a tight embrace.

“I never wanted this for you, I always knew he was not good enough for you. My deepest regret was Oldtown, I wish I had never teased Baelor. Maybe you two would have been good together.”

Elia hugs him back, but she chides her brother benignly, “what has happened has happened Oby. There is no changing that, as I am learning. I cannot regret what has happened, for I have been given my little sun and star. Do not fret over me little brother, all shall be well.”

Instead of letting her go, her brother holds her even more, because she knows just as she does that soon she shall be leaving once again, into another keep not their own, with a husband who is not of Dorne where she will remain close.

Her and Oberyn had always been close, almost twins in how they read each other’s minds, but the time has come to put away childish things, to no longer hide away in the sands.

Elia was like her sigil, just like the sun she had burned brightly, and her sun had set prematurely, but the sun always rises again and so too shall she.

* * *

It takes her some hours to leave Oberyn, to break away from the evening meal that is had with her family. Rhaenys was most happy to see Ser Jaime again, an old friend from an old life with the same smile for her was a welcome respite from all the changes her daughter has been through.

But the quietness of the evening meal did nothing for them when her and Jaime had gathered once more outside near the pool, their feet once again dipped in the water as they sat close and huddled together.

“The letter to my father sits on my desk but I do not know what to say. I have never been much good at words,” he runs a hand wearily through his golden curls.

“We say the truth,” she tells him bluntly.

At this Jaime guffaws and stares at her, “and what would the truth be Elia?”

“The truth is whatever we make it. Rhaegar and his lady love made their own truth over the bodies of others. Why can we not create our own truth? Least there are no bodies for us to step over for us to do so.”

The anger she has over the death of her Uncle Lewyn will never cease, for it burns like the sun and is unrelenting. Elia will never forgive Aerys nor his son for using her and her children as hostages to fight their war.

 _Sacrifices mean nothing when you have nothing to show for it._ Because three lives put to the scale of ten thousand is not something she can easily swallow no matter how thankful that she is that her and her children live…because others should be alive too.

“Our mothers both wanted us wed, maybe they saw something that we did not when we were younger. I would like to think so, that their original wish for us to wed will finally happen,” Jaime stated.

She hummed in thought, her feet wiggling in the cool water as she leaned back on her hands, her face tilted towards the setting sun.

“I would like to think so too. But your father, he will not be easy. We shall play this carefully, as we know unfortunately that Lady Joanna died during childbirth when my family and I arrived for another betrothal and the hope of a confirmation. Lord Tywin was in his grief as was my mother, for one lost his wife while another lost her sister in all but blood. Grief and anger got in the way and words were said and by the time the mourning period had passed, Aerys had called for me and my mother had no other choice but to answer. Now after all these years, we shall finally be united as was their wish,” Elia spoke with her mind drifting off, her mind like a board of cyvasse as she placed her pieces down.

The people, and the lord and ladies of Westeros were going to talk regardless because the former wife of the Crown Prince now King of Westeros, and a former member of the Kingsguard getting married was something to gossip about; but it was better to give them an actual story to talk about than their own idiotic thoughts to follow.

Jaime smiles down at her as he states, “you were always the smart one. Smarter than us all.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, _not smart enough_ , as her feet continue to kick in the water, gentle waves flowing out from her feet, “are you sure this is what you want? It is not too late to turn back now, you know?”

Because all she ever wanted was the choice to make her decisions, no matter the limited scope they were to be made in. She knows exactly what she is doing by reemerging from the safety of the Water Gardens, from the safety that is children’s laughter that sings out in the air under the sun of Dorne.

“I believe the choices were made for us a long time ago, either by gods or maybe fate, I do not know. But sometimes, I find it easier to just go with the current instead of fighting against it,” Jaime is the first to the pull his feet from the water this time, as he reaches his hand down to help pull her up, though she does not need it.

Her health has been on the steady incline, Maester Caleolette has been brewing up a storm with Oberyn, elixirs and even certain foods to help her, which have proven to be true. Though Elia suspects that not having a mad man as a good father, an ungrateful man as a husband and living in a dour and gloomy place such as Dragonstone or a shit filled city such as King’s Landing has done good for her even more. The time that she should have had after she gave birth to Rhaenys is the time she is getting now, time to rest her bones and let her pains settle. Her days are easy when her thoughts are not plagued by the actions of others.

Their arms are linked as they walk through the gardens, and Elia is quite comfortable as they take the longer walk back towards the palace. Their pace is slow as they pass by servants who bow their hands, some of their eyes widening in surprise at seeing her and Jaime walking so closely to one another.

Though she does not fear Varys’s spies here, she knows that eventually this news will spread, which is why Doran will announce it tomorrow just as soon as her and Jaime write their letter to Lord Tywin.

It will be a surprise for some, they will wonder why her and Jaime have come together when there are a few years between them. When she has two children who have been bastardized and Jaime was dismissed from his vows as a Kingsguard when he put Aerys in the Black Cells after finding out about the wildfire under the city. They will wonder and will try to pry and seek out answers, but the only answers they will get is the story that they will be told.

She knows most men, most _good_ men would try to put her back together, would try to woo her and make her happy and make her fall in love. But alas, that is not what she wants nor needs. Her and Jaime, they are not looking towards one another to fix each other, no, because that would be the easier way out.

Instead, they both hold mirrors to one another, as they stitch themselves back together, with the other holding the glass in a steel grip, as to not mess up the other’s sutures. It is tedious, but she finds she would rather deal with this with him than any other, because they do not understand the changes she has gone through.

So ragged that they both are, to others they shall prick and poke for those who linger too long in their spaces, who wish to understand their relationship or even the nature of it but with one another their edges shall be dulled and softened.

The changes are small, but barely a glimpse at being noticeable but the changes are there, nonetheless. 

Fragmented shards that have long since been broken off by others, pieces that were taken and discarded and thrown into the sea to just drift afar, maybe it would be easier to take those pieces back and try to stitch themselves back together, but sometimes new pieces need to be created and formed in the place of old ones.

**Author's Note:**

> Theme for this installment: "Drifting Shards" by Giles Lamb


End file.
